


swag swag swag on you

by blue_rocket_frost



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Smut, Fuckbuddies, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 16:45:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15147503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_rocket_frost/pseuds/blue_rocket_frost
Summary: It was the best sex Alexei had ever had, so when he and Parson both ended up going to Montreal to train with Zimboni, he couldn’t think of a reason not to keep going.   And what happens in Montreal stays in Montreal, right?  That’s how the saying goes.“That is not how the saying goes,” B says.





	swag swag swag on you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blindinglights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindinglights/gifts).



> AUGGGH! Blindinglights! Friend! I so, so hope you like this fic! It did give me fits, but I was glad to have them and wish nothing more than that it brings you even a little bit of happiness. <3 
> 
> Meanwhile: This fic doesn't have a lot of warnings. There's some awkwardness, boys being dicks to each other, and some mild drinking with sex, but no drinking enough to impair anyone's judgement while they're having sex. There is a lot of foul language and also some v explicit sex and some not so explicit sex. 
> 
> Title from Justin Bieber's "Boyfriend", because of course it is. 
> 
> Many thanks to my beta and bff Verity for the last minute beta and the Buzzfeed graphic, and for the mods and everyone in this fest for being so amazing and cheering each other on. Happy KPBB to you all!

There was a post about Kent Parson on Buzzfeed this morning: 

Alexei already knows he doesn’t wish Kent Parson was his boyfriend. Alexei doesn’t even like Kent Parson. He can count the things he likes about Parson on one hand, and two of his fingers are shoved up Parson’s ass. Well, three fingers now. Does he even like two things about Kent Parson? This is a terrible metaphor. At this rate, Parson is going to take his whole fist. 

“You’d do it, wouldn’t you?” Alexei hisses, folds himself over Parson’s back so his lips brush Parson’s ear. “You take my whole hand if I ask?” 

“Yeah,” Parson groans, a little out of it, “man, fuck. I’ll do anything if you keep doing that.” 

Alexei twists his fingers deeper and Parson makes a little sound in his throat. It was more fun the first time they did this. Parson was scratching and biting, so intense Alexei thought he was going to shake out of his skin. This time, he’s compliant, a little lazy, far too easy to give in. 

“What if I say I’m not fuck you? What if I’m keep you like this?” 

“I’m going to nut anyway if you keep it up, so you do whatever the fuck you want.” 

“You’re bossy today.” He uses his thumb to press right behind Parson’s balls and twists his fingers a little harder. 

“I’m everything you’ve ever dreamed of,” Parson says, haughty and over his shoulder. “Now fuck me if you’re going to or I’ll call someone who can do it better.” 

“Nobody fuck you better,” Alexei says, tilts Parson’s hips up, pushes his face down into the mattress.

“Prove it.” 

Alexei rolls a condom on. Parson doesn’t say anything after that but “yes.” 

When it’s over, Parson is half-lying, half-sitting against his headboard using a discarded T-shirt to wipe come off his chest. The clip-on lamp shines down on his cornsilk yellow hair, lighting up the crown of his head like a halo. He’s beautiful like this, vulnerable and a little sleepy-eyed. Alexei wants to fuck that look right off his face. 

“Time for me to go, I guess,” he says, instead.

Parson shrugs. The light catches the fading red mark in his shoulder. Shame. Alexei had hoped it would bruise. “You can stay if you want. I’ve got somewhere to be in an hour, but you can roll with.”

“Can’t.” Alexei starts putting his clothes on. “Got to clean out sock drawer.” 

“Suit yourself.” Parson looks up at him through his eyelashes. “I mean, I’ll probably be good to go again in a few minutes. If you wanna.” His wet pink lips are turned down into a concerned little frown.

Alexei puts his thumb right in the center of it, and Parson sucks it into his mouth. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Parson talks with his mouth full, pupils wide with want. He releases Alexei’s thumb with a pop. “But go wash your dick off first, I hate the taste of latex. And you have to get me back later.” 

Alexei kisses him, just to shut him up.

* * *

It started with a big, open ice hit. Gorgeous, text-book even. Parson’s head was up, so he had to know McKenzie was coming. The little rat planted his feet anyway and took the shot. 

No one even knew the puck was in until after the hit, bar down with an audible clank, dirty-nasty top cheddar before anyone even saw it coming. Parson was in his own end in a blink, stealing the puck out from under Dozier and taking off like a bat out of hell for a fucking Hail Mary of a goal in the last minute. 

Then he was completely ragdolled, flung into a colorless sprawl on the ice in full HD on Snowy's flatscreen. 

Zimboni took an audible breath, dug the weight of his elbows into his knees. “Fuck, Kenny, what were you thinking?” 

“That’s the problem with Parson,” Alexei answered around a mouth full of chocolate covered potato chips, or homemade stress-baked whatever the fuck, “he doesn’t think.” 

“Kid’s all heart.” Snowy crushed his Lacroix. 

“Yeah,” Zimboni said, kind of far off, a little shell-shocked, the way he gets whenever anyone mentions Parson more than just in passing. “He’s—he was always—“ He’s interrupted by his phone ringing. “—Shit. I have to take this. It’s my dad.”

* * *

Three days later, the Aces were still calling it an upper body injury, but B--like always--had the scoop: broken collar bone. Out six to eight weeks. 

It was the middle of March.

Me: until beginning of playoffs  
Little b: you think they’ll make it that far?

The Aces were, at that time, second in the Pacific, Parson leading the NHL with 90 points in 69 games. He had 36 goals already.

Me: no fucking way.  
Little b: *laughing emoji* hand 2 god i would never wish harm on anyone… and I’m not thrilled he got hurt… but it couldn’t have happened to a nicer person.

* * *

The Aces didn’t make the playoffs. The Falconers finished third in the Atlantic. They lost in the first round to the Moose in five. Alexei booked a flight back for the night of locker cleanout, so he could party his sorrow away in Pita and still have time to dry out before the World Cup. 

He had only been home for a day when he answered B’s Facetime call. 

“So, you’ll never guess where my boyfriend is,” said B, the kitchen in the background around him. It must not have been a good place, because B’s knuckles were white while he kneaded his dough.

“Already training for next season?”

B flipped the dough over with a smack; a cloud of flour floated into Alexei’s view. “No, but it’s a good guess, bless his heart.” He looked sweet and fond, like he always did about Jack except on the rare occasions when he really, really didn’t. “Any more guesses?”

“Too drunk to guess.” Not really. Alexei was buzzed at the best, but still too pissed about the playoffs for guessing games.

B rolled his eyes. “He’s in the second bedroom on a Skype call with Kent Parson, in case you were wondering.” 

“Gross. Why he talk to that guy?” 

Another cloud of flour wafted up from the bottom of the screen. It went a little higher this time. “They’ve been talking on and off since Parse broke his collarbone. But, you know, honestly, Tater, it beats the whole righteous hell out of me. Three months ago, Jack wouldn’t even say his name. And now he’s calling him Kenny and Parse is winking at me over Skype. 

“He fucking—excuse my French—winked at me and told me to told me to talk some sense into my boy, whatever that’s supposed to mean. The very next second they’re shouting about PDO and game score and Jack’s putting his pants on and going into the other room to watch game tape on the good TV.” 

Alexei’s eyebrows went up. “Why he have his pants off in first place? Is 2PM.” 

“Um,” B said, flushing. “I’ve got to go, Jack’s—”

In the right top of the screen, Zimboni’s hand dropped into the frame, then his face, as he leaned down to kiss B’s shoulder. “Oh, hey Tater.”

“Zimboni! What’s up? How domestic life treat you?” 

Zimboni was wearing his “I’m in love with Eric Bittle and there’s nothing wrong in the world” smile. “Good. Everything’s real good. Bits has to go now, though.” 

Alexei heard “Mr. Jack Zimmerman, put me down!” as the screen faded to black, and that’s how he ended up being fuck buddies with Kent Parson.

* * *

Well, that and a victory party at Worlds, but Alexei didn’t have any excuse for that. 

Parson was wearing all black and standing against the white wall in the flashing blue light. His skin was so pale he looked like he was glowing. The strobing lights kept dipping into the hollow of his throat.

“Hey, Mashkov,” Parson said. “How’s third place feel?”

Alexei got close enough to crowd him into the wall. “How’s second?” 

“Better.” 

“Wow,” Alexei said, “asshole.” 

“Well,” Parson said, into his drink, “you don’t like me anyway, so that’s not, like, a change of opinion.” 

“You right. I don’t like you.” 

“Great. I don’t like you either,” Parson said, then something else, but Alexei missed it because he was too busy looking at Parson's mouth. 

“Huh?” 

“I said--You know what, nevermind.” Parson sighed, dramatic, and shifted his weight against the wall. Neither of them said anything for a minute, until Parson said: “We’re definitely going to fuck tonight, aren’t we?” 

He wanted to deny it, but he wanted Parson more, and he got him: fast and loud in the bathroom, Parson pressed between the wall and Alexei’s chest, one foot on the sink and one on the bath while Alexei pounded into him. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he yelled, and scratched lines down Alexei’s back. 

Alexei put a hand over his mouth. “Fuck,” he breathed, balls deep and energy nowhere near flagging, “I can hold you up with one arm. You weigh nothing.”

“You are nothing,” Parson breathed, then wrapped his arms around Alexei’s neck and bit into his mouth.

* * *

It was the best sex Alexei had ever had, so when he and Parson both ended up going to Montreal to train with Zimboni, he couldn’t think of a reason not to keep going. And what happens in Montreal stays in Montreal, right? That’s how the saying goes.

“That is not how the saying goes,” B said when Alexei told him. “What the everloving fuck, Tater? I didn’t even know you liked boys.” 

Alexei hadn’t either, except for that one time. And the other time, and maybe the one before that. He shrugged into his bite of pancakes. 

“And what are you going to tell Jack?” B said, eyes wide. 

“I’m never tell Jack. Kent is telling him right now.” 

“So it’s Kent now?” 

“Kent, Parson… No difference to me. Is whatever.” 

B looked suspicious. “Then why are you sleeping with him?”

Alexei shrugged. “Why not?” 

B waves his spatula like a weapon. “You want a list?”

* * *

“Ah, shit.. Right-ah-there,” Parson says few days later, collarbone long-healed, the mark Alexei left above it still purpled. He’s sitting on the kitchen counter of Alexei's Airbnb and Alexei is standing between his knees, shoving him back against the cabinets. 

Alexei sucks harder on that spot just beneath Parson’s ear. Parson makes that throaty little noise again and ruts against Alexei’s hipbone like he wants another bruise to match. They’re getting too good at this—Parson is fully hard and they’ve only been going at it hot and heavy for a couple of minutes. 

“Hey, up here.” Parson guides Alexei’s face up to kiss him on the mouth. It’s scalding hot and unexpectedly sweet, Parson’s hands twisting in his hair while they make out like kids and Alexei pulls at the hem of Parsons’s shirt. He gets lost in the rush of it, in the warmth curling down in his gut, the way blood surges when Parson pulls his hair, sucks on his tongue. He should see the bite to his lower lip coming, but Parson has a way of getting Alexei between his teeth.

Alexei has no idea how he ends up on his knees with Parsons’s dick in his mouth, or how Parson’s shirt ends up in the kitchen sink, soaking in dirty spaghetti sauce water and old suds.

“Well, fuck,” Parson says when they’re done. There’s a little bit of come in his cowlick and his whole face and neck are red. “My shirt’s wet. I’m taking yours.” 

“Is team shirt,” Alexei heaves, out of breath. ”It go down to your knees.” 

Parson takes the shirt and pulls it over his head. The shirt is huge on him, made worse by the collar stretched out where Alexei struggled to get it off too fast. “Whatever. I’m just wearing it to get laundry.”

* * *

Alexei opens a text from B a few days later. It’s a picture of Parson, in the too-big shirt, in front of a row of dryers with his arm around a young fan. Parson's still a little pink across his mouth and down his neck from the beard burn. 

Little b: *judgy eyes emoji* u’r wearing each other’s clothes now?  
Me: *shrugging girl emoji* his was dirty  
Little b: I don’t even want to know

* * *

Alexei drives Parson to the airport before the NHL awards. He could have gone with Zimboni and B, or taken an Uber, but Alexei likes driving Parse’s ridiculous car. It’s kind of a squeeze, but he puts the seat all the way back and it’s a little bit easier. Except Parson keeps changing the radio station. It’s annoying. Alexei takes his hand. 

“Um, so,” Parson says, “I’m gonna be gone like.. a week. Maybe a week and a half.” 

“You want me to come back and get you?” 

“Yeah, that would be sweet.” He takes Alexei’s hand with his when he reaches up to adjust his hat. “Don’t pick up in my car, please. I don’t want your fluids to ruin the interior.”

“I’m put my fluids in your interior.”

Parson looks at him sideways. “I can’t tell whether or not you’re blowing me off.’

“I’ll blow—“

“Alexei—man, I’m being serious.” He takes his hand away, balls his hands into fists. 

“Hey, is okay. I’m not pick up at all. Is too much work. Not everyone easy as you are.” 

“Oh,” Parson says. “Me neither, okay?” 

* * *

Little b: u should know your boyfriend just turned the guy from Magic Mike down for u after winning the Ted Lindsay  
Me: not my boyfriend  
Little b: well he’s not my boyfriend, mine doesn’t have a Ted Lindsay  
Me: *eyeroll emoji* just Art Ross  
Me: Kent has 3 Ted Lindsays

* * *

There are fireworks on Canada Day. They watch them from Zimboni’s balcony on the wrong side of the river. Parson is at the railing, and when he turns, the sky explodes with light. Alexei snaps a boomerang of his silhouette with fireworks behind him, pulsing like the best of his heart.

“Fuck. Delete that,” Parson says. “My hair looks like shit.” 

“You fishing for compliments now?” Alexei slides his arm around Parson and pulls Parson back against his chest. “You know you’re beautiful,” he says into Parson’s ear. 

“You don’t have to spit game at me, asshole,” Parson says, “I’m already going home with you.” But his cheeks are a pleased shade of pink, bright enough that Alexei can see it in the dim light.

He really is gorgeous, and there’s no reason for their mouths not to be touching. So Alexei uses one crooked finger to tilt Parson's face up to kiss him. He means for it to be quick, but they’re bad at that, so he lets it go long, get tender, keeps going until he’s lightheaded. They miss some of the fireworks, but he doesn’t miss B’s side eye. 

* * *

Zimboni is the one who seeks him out to have the conversation three days later, brings it up like it’s nothing when they’re driving back from the park where they like to run. “There’s something you should know about Parse.” His hands are on ten and two. “He and I have history.” 

“B tell me he is your first boyfriend.” Alexei has no idea what to do with that. 

“My first best friend, too.” Zimboni doesn’t look away from the road. “I didn’t do well by him.” 

“Okay?” 

“Parse has a lot of feelings. He um, he really cares about people, and he gets hurt really easily.” 

“I’m not hurt him.” 

“It’s not fair for you to lead him on.”

“What?” Alexei says. 

Zimboni finally looks at him. “Bits says you don’t have feelings for him, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you.” 

Alexei snorts. “Let me guess, same way he use to look at you.”

“Yeah,” Zimboni says, “like you’re breaking his heart.”

* * *

Alexei goes home and strips all of his clothes off into the floor, throws himself face down in the patch of dying afternoon sunlight on his unmade bed. He hasn’t changed the sheets in at least a week, and they’re honestly starting to feel a little crusty. It didn’t seem gross last night, or yesterday morning, or Tuesday afternoon when he texted Parson “u up?” and Parson drove across town to suck his dick and hold his hand. Today, naked, after his post-run shower, he can’t stop thinking about the ugliness, the mess.

He should probably feel like shit about it, but he doesn’t feel like shit. He just feels alone. 

It’s so quiet he can hear the key turn in the door when Parson comes in. He doesn’t say anything, but Alexei can hear the sounds of his shoes coming off at the door and his keys clanking down on the counter. He comes straight to the bedroom. 

“Hey,” Parson says. He looks nervous, in his full armor of snapback and flannel in the 32 degree heat. 

“Hey.” Alexei's voice comes out thicker than he wanted it to. 

Parson makes a face. “Can I come in?” 

Alexei shrugs. He lies still while Parson climbs into bed next to him, as close as he can without touching, even though they’re kind of touching anyway. The rough denim on Parson’s knee brushes Alexei’s hip; their faces are almost too close together to see. 

“Jack told me he talked to you,” Parson says. The bill of his hat bumps against the bridge of Alexei's nose. “It was real shitty, what he said.” 

“He want to protect you.” 

“Well, huh.” Parson sits up, pulls his hat off long enough to wreck his hair more by running his fingers through it, and puts it back on backwards. He makes big gestures. He rolls his whole head when he rolls his eyes. It’s the little shit like that he does that Alexei can’t look away from. “I don’t really need his protection.”

“Of course not,” Alexei says. "Big, bad Kent Parson. So brave, so fearless, so strong. Face any opponent. Take any hit. How that collarbone feel, lately, huh?” 

Parson sighs, lays back down, and looks at the ceiling. “You’re not the one who hit me.” 

Alexei’s hand moves on its own, sliding over the scar he knows is on Parson’s chest. 

Parson sighs. “No. I really do need to, like… Apologize to you. So, I’m sorry, for, you know...”

“No, I’m don’t know. What you sorry for?”

“Lying,” Parson says. 

“What you lie about?”

“My feelings,” Parson says. He’s twisting the wrinkled sheets in his hands, “about you.” He stops and licks his lips, takes a deep breath. “I thought you’d tell me to fuck off.” 

Alexei grabs a handful of Parson's shirt and pulls him closer. "Fucking idiot."

"That's a step up from asshole?" Parson says. He's all tight and tense, like he really does think—

Alexei puts his hand on Parson’s face and pushes the hat away. “I’m like you, too,” he says. “You still an asshole.” 

“I’ll show you asshole,” Parson says. “But not on these sheets. They’re fucking disgusting.” 

“You’re disgusting,” Alexei says, but he’s already pushing Parson’s shirt off his shoulders, sliding his hand down his pants. 

“You like me,” Parson smirks. 

Alexei kisses him to get him to shut his mouth. 


End file.
